


Here Comes the Sun

by coffeeinallcaps



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:18:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5819299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeinallcaps/pseuds/coffeeinallcaps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe is in his flight suit, which is plenty unfair in and of itself, but the worst part comes when he takes off his helmet and drags a hand through his hair. It’s tousled, damp with sweat; Finn can tell from the way loose strands cling to Poe’s fingers.</p><p>Poe turns, and their eyes meet. Poe smiles, yells something in greeting. Finn waves in return, wondering how many members of the Resistance have already been struck by this same maddening, overwhelming feeling of <i>want</i>, courtesy of Poe Dameron.</p><p>Dozens, he bets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here Comes the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Tumblr prompt](http://coffeeinallcaps.tumblr.com/post/137843589906/ok-ok-finn-doesnt-really-have-the-kind-of-hair-u) "Finn doesn't really have the kind of hair u can run ur fingers through so he's FASCINATED by poe's fab curly hair (...) & when silver starts streaking it Finn becomes even more tactile". My brain somehow managed to distill two unconnected ideas from this, namely "Poe is a tactile person" and "Finn wants to touch Poe’s hair", and ran with ’em.

Finn hasn’t met many tactile people—not  _practicing_  ones, at least; spontaneous touch wasn’t exactly encouraged in the First Order—but it doesn’t take him long to figure out that Poe Dameron is one. Of course Poe Dameron, in all his kind-eyed wavy-haired perfection, is a tactile person.

Like it isn’t bad enough that Finn has to deal with Poe’s kind eyes and wavy hair and general perfection. No, on top of that Poe has to go and be the sort of person who throws his arm around your shoulders when you’re walking together, and who immediately moves in for a full-body hug when it’s been a while since you last saw each other, and who brushes his hand along the top of your knee when you sit down next to him, just a casual little  _glad to see you_ touch to accompany his smile.

And he does it so naturally, too, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Actually, he probably doesn’t. It’s just the way Poe is, handing out hugs and smiles and casual little touches left and right. To innocent bystanders.

“Sounds to me like you’re a little in love with him,” Rey says matter-of-factly, and Finn doesn’t bother denying it, just lightly tugs at her hair and threatens, “You don’t want me to mess up this braid, do you?”

He doesn’t  _really_  mind, though. It’s sort of—nice, actually, the way Poe treats him. Of course he treats everybody else that way too, Finn’s not under any illusions, but it’s still  _nice_ , the warmth of someone else’s skin against yours. The reassuring weight of someone else’s presence by your side.

Finn isn’t quite sure yet, but he thinks he might be a tactile person as well.

 

* * *

 

Poe’s hair is luscious. Finn wants to touch it.

The first time the urge hits him is, unsurprisingly, when Poe returns from a flight. Finn happens to be outside, enjoying the sun. He’s under strict orders to take it easy, and he has no desire whatsoever to disobey those orders. Life on this base is wildly different from anything he’s ever known—he’s content just to watch from the sidelines for a bit longer.

So he’s outside, enjoying the sun, when Poe’s X-Wing touches down. Finn watches Poe hop out of it. He’s in his flight suit, which is plenty unfair in and of itself, but the worst part comes when he takes off his helmet and drags a hand through his hair. It’s tousled, damp with sweat; Finn can tell from the way loose strands cling to Poe’s fingers.

Poe turns, and their eyes meet. Poe smiles, yells something in greeting. Finn waves in return, wondering how many members of the Resistance have already been struck by this same maddening, overwhelming feeling of  _want_ , courtesy of Poe Dameron.

Dozens, he bets.

 

* * *

 

Finn doesn’t mean to run into Poe at the refreshers. In fact, if he’d known Poe was going to be there, he might have waited for a bit. For his own sake. But he didn’t, and now he’s here, and Poe’s here, and Poe is half naked, and his hair is still dripping wet, drops of water sliding down the side of his face, and he’s smiling at Finn, saying good morning, and everything is awful.

 

* * *

 

Not long after that, Finn dreams about sinking his fingers into Poe’s wet hair and holding on tight.

When he wakes up he stares at the ceiling and wonders if Poe would let him. He probably would. Poe wouldn’t mind, the same way he doesn’t mind when Jess slaps his ass while walking by, or when one of his buddies jumps on his back and jokingly pulls him into a headlock.

Poe wouldn’t mind. Wouldn’t mind any of his many friends touching him like that. Maybe that’s why Finn doesn’t want to, not really. (Doesn’t _want_ to want to.)

(He still gets dreams about it, though.)

 

* * *

 

One disadvantage of Poe being kind of a big deal in the Resistance is that it means he is also somewhat indispensable to the Resistance. He goes off-planet a lot, disappearing for irregular amounts of time (sometimes hours, sometimes days) and coming and leaving at odd hours.

Finn doesn’t know the details of all Poe’s missions. Poe always tells him when he asks, tells him earnestly and elaborately, but Finn finds he doesn’t always feel like asking. He’s content here, taking it easy. Observing, learning. Outside, in the sun and the fresh air, it’s hard to remember a war is still raging overhead.

That’s the way Finn likes it, for now.

He’s on his way to the mess hall for dinner when he stumbles upon Poe, asleep, in his flight suit, on a random couch in a random communal area. This situation in itself would not be so random—Poe likes sleep, and he doesn’t get nearly enough of it, Finn’s pretty sure—if it weren’t for the fact that Poe took off a couple days ago and Finn hadn’t heard about his return.

“Poe?” he says, a lot louder than he means to in his surprise.

Poe shifts, makes a noise. Blinks. “Hey, buddy,” he says in a voice gravelly with sleep, pushing up onto one elbow. Only Poe Dameron could sound genuinely pleased to see someone who just startled him out of a much-needed, well-deserved nap. Damn you, Poe Dameron.

“Didn’t know you were back at base,” Finn says. Usually either BB-8 or Poe himself comes looking for Finn not long after touchdown. His stomach jolts funnily; he had never paused to think about it like that. But it’s true. No matter where Finn is, Poe always finds him.

Which means Poe always comes looking for him.

Huh.

Poe frowns, as though he himself hadn’t fully realized he was back at base either, and sits up. His hair is static, little tufts sticking up here and there. Finn wants, more than ever, to run his fingers through it. He’s tempted, also more than ever, to give in to the urge.

“Yeah,” Poe says, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Just landed, I was on my way to my quarters. Guess I decided I needed a break, or something.” He gingerly rubs the back of his neck, winces. “Not one of my best ideas, evidently.”

“I can think of a couple worse ones,” Finn says, which earns him a laugh. It’s a brief laugh, a tired laugh, but the sincerity in it makes Finn’s stomach flood with heat.

Poe heaves himself to his feet. “Thanks for waking me, bud. I’m gonna go find an actual bed to crash in,” he says, touching Finn’s shoulder. “See you after?”

The touch is supposed to be a sort of pat on the shoulder, Finn assumes, would normally assume if his mind weren't still reeling from his earlier realization, but it ends up being more like a caress. Poe smiles at him, sleepily, and squeezes his shoulder—damn you, Poe Dameron, damn you for being so tactile and maddening and _perfect_ —before walking away.

Finn watches Poe until he’s out of sight, unable to look away from the small curls at the nape of Poe’s neck.

 

* * *

 

They’re outside, sitting side by side in companionable silence, when Finn notices, really notices for the first time, the streak of gray that starts at Poe’s temple and runs behind his ear, dissolves in the black of the rest of his hair. It’s bright silver in the blinding light of the sun, mesmerizing, and Finn doesn’t even think—he reaches for it, doesn’t think at all until he feels the bristle of Poe’s hair against his fingertips, the warmth of Poe’s cheek under his palm. His heart jumps, then, but Poe doesn’t do anything, doesn’t move or speak, so Finn doesn’t pull his hand away.

After a while Poe tilts his head into the touch, ever so slightly. His eyes, so close, search for Finn’s, and when their gazes lock Finn’s heart starts beating even faster. He lowers his hand, but Poe catches it, takes it in his, thumb gently stroking Finn’s knuckles as Finn lifts his face back to the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come yell at me about Star Wars [on Tumblr](http://coffeeinallcaps.tumblr.com/), because there currently aren't nearly enough people yelling at me about Star Wars on Tumblr.
> 
> Important information RE: the title and my feelings about this piece--  
>  **coffeeinallcaps**  
>  what do i call it  
> kinda wanna call it "here comes the sun" but that would make the symbol of the sun in the fic super heavy handed  
> then again it's already a pretty sappy, heavy-handed piece  
> DO I WANT TO MAKE MY STAR WARS AO3 DEBUT WITH THIS.  
>  **listentotheshityousay**  
>  WHO CARES ABOUT HEAVY HANDED SYMBOLISM  
> GO FOR IT  
>   
> P.S. Comments make my day!


End file.
